


Impossible

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Brotp, Gen, Probably not smut, Student John, Teacher Sherlock, but you know me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a teacher. And an impossible man. John is a student. And a good friend. This is how they meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Human beings make the worst furniture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



> I'm writing this story in the hopes that I can manage to write Sherlock as a strong, obnoxious man who doesn't need therapy. I have a habit of making him more than a bit broken, and I want to put myself to the task of not feeding into that. 
> 
> I don't know whether it's BBC Sherlock that got me in that mindset, but I want to try to get out of it. I want Sherlock to be Sherlockian because that's who he is, not because he needs therapy. I do more than I bit of trying to fix his behavior in my stories. I will attempt to leave that behind. 
> 
> Sherlock is Sherlock. Not a man who needs John desperately. Not a man who must have his rough edges softened. Not a small boy trapped in a man's body. He's just Sherlock. 
> 
> Don't let that make you think John won't be important. John is the most important person in Sherlock's life. John will be his best friend, and possibly lover (although I'll try to avoid it). John will not be the salve for his injured heart. John will be John. 
> 
> Yes, they are two pieces of one whole, but that does not mean codependency necessarily. It means that each man chooses to be there for the other. It's always a choice. 
> 
> Sherlock is thirty five or so and John is thirty. No big age discrepancy, no huge taboo.
> 
> For my dear friend ginger8lee, and the sun to my moon-yarnjunkie

Mike was his best mate, so he trusted him. Pretty much. Mike was a good mate, but he was also very forgiving with people. He was constantly getting taken advantage of. John couldn't count how many times he'd found Mike up at four thirty making flash cards or study guides for a 'friend'. 

The point was, Mike meant well. So when John got back from break to mumbles about how horrible Dr Holmes was he took it in stride. He couldn't be that bad. Mike had suggested he sign up to be the man's TA after all. He must have seen something good in the genius. 

It was when he ran into the two of them, not knowing who the spindly brunette was at the time, that he started to wonder. 

"I need a pen." The tall man remarked, eyes flitting back and forth over a stack of papers balanced carefully on Mike's back. 

Mike pulled a pen out of his pocket and proffered it over his shoulder. 

"No." The man replied. 

Mike tried another. 

"Black. I need a black pen. Why on earth would you offer me a green pen? Who even owns a green pen?" The tall man huffed. 

Mike tried once more and the pen was accepted. It was obvious that the position wasn't comfortable, as Mike's face had gone a bright shade and his breathing was restricted. The man continued writing without a care. 

John was actually backing away, trying to leave the scene without being noticed, when Mike glanced up. Fuck. Caught. Mike smiled his normal jovial smile, eyes looking large through his glasses from that angle. 

"John!" He hollered. 

The tall man adjusted him like he was actually the furniture he was impersonating. John winced when Mike did and took a step closer. 

"John, this is Dr Holmes. He's the professor you'll be helping this year." Mike said happily. 

Dr Holmes smiled and looked up for a second. "Your back will be of better use." He said. "Mike's a bit...padded." 

Mike blushed a darker shade of crimson as he looked away. John stood shocked, jaw slack. 

After a few more moments Dr Holmes handed the pen back to Mike, grabbed the papers and started walking away. Before John could say anything to Mike the tall man hollered over his shoulder. 

"Well, come on, what are you waiting for?"

John looked at Mike, who stood finally, shrugging his shoulders. John jogged after the doctor, barely keeping up as he disappeared down the hall.


	2. This is not a job for the weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock 'introduces himself' in a rather Sherlockian fashion.

John caught up to Dr Holmes just as he passed through a set of double doors that said 'staff' in large red letters. He looked back and forth in the new room, suddenly worried that he might get in trouble for being there. Dr Holmes walked quickly to the large window and stilled. He moved strangely. He'd been walking at a fast clip for so long and now he just hovered there, like all the life had been sacked out of him. 

When he spoke it startled John, who'd found himself staring at the bizarre man's back. 

"Two sugars, no milk." He said, voice rumbling from him like old machinery coming to life. 

John snorted. 

Dr Holmes spun quickly and moved directly into John's personal space. He looked from John's eyes to his mouth and up again, watching him lick his lips nervously. It seemed to pull all the air from the room. 

John stood his ground. 

"If you aren't happy getting my tea and doing my busy work you might as well leave. This is not a job for the weak-" Dr Holmes began. 

He stopped speaking and took a step back, running his eyes over John's prone form and then his hand down the left sleeve of his oatmeal jumper. John stood transfixed. He knew he should move, tell the man to go fuck himself and leave. He knew he shouldn't allow this amount of scrutiny from someone he didn't know. What he knew and what he did were two different things entirely. 

He allowed the tall man to walk around him, standing at attention whether he wanted to or not. When he ran his long fingers down to John's hand the spell was broken. John pulled away and took a large step back. 

Dr Holmes cleared his throat. 

"You spent time in the military. You know how to follow orders without question. Decide now whether you want to do this or not. I won't give you a second chance." Dr Holmes said, looking directly, and unabashedly, into John's eyes. 

John frowned and walked to make the cup of tea. He thought he heard Dr Holmes whisper 'excellent' under his breath. He felt like he was being considered for breeding stock. It wasn't a new feeling. 

John brought the cup to the window and handed it over. 

"Dr." He said calmly. 

"Sherlock." Dr Holmes replied. 

"Im-" John began. 

"This is quite good." Dr Holmes...Sherlock said with a faint smile. "I might just have to keep you." 

And with that the mad bastard was off walking again, leaving John in his wake like a forgotten toy...or not. 

"Come along, John, much to do." He chirped. 

John rolled his eyes and followed.


	3. Never trust a scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock starts to warm to John.

Sherlock and John ended up in a cramped office at the edge of campus. It was one of the only offices that faced the parking area and had a large cement front stoop. There were overturned buckets and burn marks all over the ground. John hopped around some broken glass and wondered what the hell was going on. 

The office was one of the smaller ones on campus, just enough space for a bookshelf, two chairs and a desk. The desk was littered with books and papers, and the second chair had a Bunsen burner and three lighters balanced precariously across the seat. The whole place smelled acrid and John wondered absently what might have crawled into the walls to die. 

Sherlock slipped through the mess and sat down. He opened the desk and fished out a key, holding it out to John and wiggling his wrist. John took the key and stuck it in his pocket. 

"I'm glad to meet you, Sherlock," John stated, still uncomfortable saying the peculiar name, "but I'm quite busy." 

He tried to sound authoritative. He was very good at it most of the time, it was just now that it seemed a tad hard. Sherlock didn't look up from his things. John sighed deeply. 

"I said I'm quite busy." He reiterated. 

"I'd say so." Sherlock said, handing over a stack of papers and sticking a bright red pen in John's...mouth. "I need all these graded by three." 

John spit the pen onto the papers and raised his eyebrows. 

"I can't get it done by three. As I said, I'm quite busy." John replied, letting his aggravation seep into his tone. 

Sherlock looked at him quizzically. John could almost see the wheels turning in that great head of his. 

"Oh, you mean busy with other things." He said as though the concept just came to him. 

"Yes, I have biology." John replied, feeling a bit more in control. 

"Mm. With Harris. Don't go." Sherlock said, turning to a ridiculously small refrigerator and pulling out a cup with foil over the top. 

John huffed a laugh. "It's my first day, I have to go." 

Sherlock peeled off the foil and took a sniff. 

"You really don't." Sherlock replied. "He'll still be a bit hung over and jetlagged from his annual trip to Barbados. He doesn't even take roll the first week. You could go watch his nut brown face yammer on about the disappointment of being back on English soil while he refuses to take his sunglasses off and reeks of cheap tanning lotion....or you could tell me what this smells like to you."

John laughed and eyed the cup warily. He really had no intention of smelling it. 

"I'll make sure you get extra credit." Sherlock offered, holding the cup closer to John's face. 

John shrugged and took a sniff. 

"Oh! Fucking hell! That's awful!" He yelled, gagging and dropping some of the papers and the spit covered pen. 

"Accurate, but I was hoping you'd go further." Sherlock replied with a smirk. 

John steeled himself and took another wiff. 

"It's like...like milk that's gone off..." He began. 

"Yes, and?" Sherlock prompted. 

"And...celery?" John said. 

"Perfect. You might actually be of some use. Now taste it." Sherlock said. 

"Oh, bugger off." John replied angrily. 

Sherlock's grin grew. "Correct response, Watson, never drink an unknown fluid given to you by a scientist." 

"You really are an arse." John said. 

Sherlock shrugged and John huffed a laugh. Sherlock looked up, amazed by the response and started laughing too. 

He stood and moved the things from the second chair, placing them on the floor and gathering up the papers John had dropped and the red pen. He stood and held them out. John saw it for the peace offering it was and took a seat. 

"You're sure he won't take role?" He asked suspiciously. 

"Positive." Sherlock replied. 

John grabbed the pen and papers from the wild man's hands and got to work.


	4. Barking mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short exchange between Mike and John later that night.

That night when John made it to the local pub he found Mike already there and on his second pint. He sat next to him and ordered a drink for himself. 

"So, how did it go?" Mike asked. 

"I can't believe you let him use you as a desk in the middle of the science wing." John said after taking a long sip. 

Mike smiled. "Did he stick a pen in your mouth?" 

John blushed. "Does he do that to everyone?" He asked. 

"Only if they hold still long enough." Mike replied, taking a drink and leaning back in his seat. 

"He's bloody crazy!" John said. 

"And brilliant." Mike added. 

"And pushy!" John snapped. 

"And you don't mind." Mike added. 

John's shoulders slumped. "I really don't. Suppose it's the soldier in me, do anything for a good cause." 

"So he's a good cause?" Mike asked. 

"Shut up." John replied with little sting. 

"Knew you'd like him." Mike said under his breath. "You're both barking mad."


	5. Sur Le Fil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock heads home at the end of the night.

Sherlock slammed the door open and took a few stumbling steps into the foyer. He set down the books he was carrying and dropped the two bags he had on his shoulder. 

"It's after three." Came Mycroft's voice from down the hall. 

"That's fairly vague, your imitation of a watch needs work." Sherlock replied sarcastically. 

"What I meant was that you shouldn't be banging around." Mycroft said, unamused. 

"Not like there's anyone to wake up." Sherlock said, making it down the hall to find his brother at his desk sipping a cocktail. 

"I could have been asleep." Mycroft said, pouring Sherlock a drink of his own. 

"But you weren't." Sherlock spit back. 

"Must we always have the same conversation, Sherlock?" Mycroft sighed. 

Sherlock took a long sip and looked at the ceiling. 

"I'm not the one who starts this conversation. Perhaps we should save it for if I ever actually wake you." He said flatly. 

Mycroft said nothing, instead turning and continuing with whatever work he had been doing while Sherlock was gone. Sherlock settled on the sofa to look over the tests John had corrected. He hated doing the task himself, and was glad to have someone else, but wanted to check the work none the less. 

When he finished he went and picked up his violin. Mycroft's eyes closed as he began playing a version of Sur Le Fil by Yann Tiersen. Sherlock was obviously contemplating something. Weighing some new odds. Mycroft let his mind drift as he sipped his drink and listened to his brother play. This was undoubtedly the only upside to living with Sherlock. Well, this and the fact that he could keep and eye on-

His train of thought was cut off as the song hit the two minute line. Sherlock played with growing aggression, pulling the music from his instrument by force. It sounded like he might break a string as he sawed viciously on the violin, faster and faster. The end was abrupt and the silence that followed almost deafening. Sherlock brushed the hair back from his brow and gazed out the window. 

"I see you've got new help. Is she pretty?" Mycroft said at length. 

"Oh, do shut up!" Sherlock snapped. "You know it's a man." 

Mycroft's lip curled and he went back to his computer, deciding to leave the rest of his fishing trip for another day. 

Sherlock lay his violin down and walked to his bedroom, slamming the door and flopping onto the bed. Mycroft. Bloody Mycroft always had to pry. He was never able to just think. Everything had to be brought to a head 

He really ought to find himself a roommate and move out of the damned posh flat. He'd only been there two weeks and he was already starting to run up the walls. He didn't need someplace nice. He didn't need the thick carpets and ornate fireplaces. He needed a place to store his things and bloody space. Just some bloody breathing room.


	6. Sometimes I don't talk for days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock looks for a flatmate.

The next morning John got a call at six o'clock. The number was blocked so he pressed the reject call button and pulled the covers over his head. The phone rang again. Blast. 

"Hello?" He asked, eyes still clenched closed. 

"I need you in the lab in an hour." The man on the other line said quickly. 

John recognized the voice immediately and sighed before throwing the duvet back. 

"I'm not scheduled to help you today." John replied, already getting out of bed and grabbing clothes from his chest of drawers. 

"Yet you're already out of bed and about to brush your teeth." Sherlock said flatly. 

"Someday you'll have to tell me how you do that." John sighed. 

The other line was quiet, but hadn't gone dead. John squeezed some toothpaste onto his brush and ran the water over it. 

"Do you even sleep?" He asked. 

"I got three hours. Don't be late." And with that Sherlock rang off, leaving John to vigorously brush his teeth and get a start on his day. 

\-----

Sherlock got up and went into the kitchen to make some tea. Mycroft was sitting at the table reading his newspaper. He shook it out, his customary morning greeting. 

"Do you even sleep?" Sherlock asked, parroting John and finding it a satisfying insult. 

"Sleep is for the weak, Sherlock. What do you have on your schedule for today?" Mycroft said with his usual tone of disinterest. 

Sherlock ignored him completely. 

"Why I'm going to my grown up job and trying to be an adult." Mycroft said in voice he meant to resemble Sherlock's. 

Sherlock sneered to himself and turned around. 

"Actually I'm looking for a flat." He said, hoping it would sting. 

"Who would want you as a flatmate?" Mycroft teased. 

Sherlock turned and stormed from the room, abandoning his coat and leaving the flat entirely. It hurt. It hurt because it was true. His last roommate had kicked him out after three months. Apparently it's frowned upon to use other's clothes to mop up toxic chemicals. He should have been thanked, it was a horrid shirt. 

\-----

On the way to the school Sherlock called a woman who owed him a favor. She said that yes, she did still have the two bedroom flat available, and was willing to hold it for him for a month. 

John was waiting for Sherlock in his office. He'd sorted through the papers on Sherlock's desk and shelved the books, making sure to bookmark every page the books were open to and order them via the Dewey decimal system. Sherlock looked around, stunned by the progress. 

"I didn't clean anything." John remarked. "Wasn't sure what was mold that needed to be disposed of and what was an experiment." 

Sherlock's brows furrowed and John thought for a second that he might be angry. 

"This is...thank you." He said quietly. 

John smiled gently and shook his head. "Are you alright? You're an hour late and you look disheveled." 

"I need you to take something down." Sherlock said. 

John picked up a pad of paper and a pen and waited patiently. 

"Flatmate needed. Large two bedroom flat. Sitting room, full kitchen, fireplace. Located in central London. Must be willing to put up with experiments and late hours."

John wrote it all down and then cocked his head. "You're looking for a roommate?" 

Sherlock scowled. "Yes, I'm living with my brother at the moment. He's horrid." 

John thought for a second before he spoke next. He didn't want to offend. 

"Suppose it's hard finding one with the sort of mess you make." He said, aiming for casual. 

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "Alright, but you'll have to make the tea and clean up. And I play the violin at all hours. Sometimes I don't talk for days." 

"Hold on a minute. I didn't say I was moving in." John replied, a bit unnerved by the fact that Sherlock had seen him out right away. 

"You didn't have to SAY it, John." Sherlock replied. "It was obvious for anyone that was paying attention." 

John rolled his eyes. "Alright, when do we see the place?" 

"Tomorrow, now, let's get to work." Sherlock said, turning and almost jogging from the room.


End file.
